


I'm always gonna care

by crazynadine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Closure, Homophobic Language, Ian in jail, M/M, Mickey Milkovich in Mexico, Moving On, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 01:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Mickey doesn't know what to do when he finds out Ian's in jail.Ian doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now that he's in jail.





	I'm always gonna care

**Author's Note:**

> this story is so beyond my comfort zone, but i promised my friend karen i'd write some kind of 'mick's moving on' fic....
> 
> it wasn't easy, but it's cannon compliant up to S8. 
> 
> i also left it open ended, since we never know what the future holds.

Mickey groans low in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright sunlight that is flowing through his window. He curls in on himself, throwing an arm over his face, flinching away from the rising sun.

He has no idea what time it is, but he knows it's too god damn early. 

"Possum, c'mon." 

Mickey groans again, rolling onto his stomach and pulling the blankets over his head. He was up late last night. Drinking. Even though he has to work today. 

Seems like his bed mate was not nearly as hungover as he way. 

"Mick." Levi says, aggravation bleeding into his voice. "Get. Up." 

Mickey huffs an irritated breath, throwing the covers off of him and sitting up in bed. He's naked, it's too damn hot for pajamas anyway. 

"What??" he asks, turning to place his feet on the hardwood, leaning over to grab a pair of boxers off the floor and dragging them up his legs. He wanders over to the small bathroom, relieving his bladder before sauntering back into the small living space. "I'm up, motherfucker."  


He can hear his boyfriend chuckling as he makes his way into the kitchen.  


"You have to work in an hour, Mick." Levi says, scrolling through the morning news on their laptop.  


Mickey flips Levi off, filling the coffee maker with bottled water, flipping the switch and drumming his fingers on the counter as he waits for the antiquated machine to produce his morning beverage.  


Mickey's been living in the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca since he crossed the border eleven months ago. He wandered around the Mexican countryside for weeks before he found his way to the Hotel Hacienda Los Laureles. It's a small spa and hotel deep in the Mexican mountains. Mickey had shied away from the ocean once he'd gotten in country. He doesn't like to think of the reasons he's so averse to the sea, but he is, nonetheless. So once he cleared customs he had made a bee line for the mountains, and stayed there ever since. It's the middle of the Mexican summer now, and Mickey can honestly say he barely thinks about Chicago, or the life he left behind anymore.  


Oaxaca is a beautiful area. Gorgeous mountains, quaint little towns, amazing people. Mickey never thought he'd find a place like this down here.  
He got lucky. 

*** 10 months ago  


When Mickey had wandered into Los Laureles, the mountain spa resort, he didn't know what to expect. He'd been moving south non-stop since he crossed the boarder. He ditched his stolen car in Mexico City, and hitched a ride with a delivery driver. He'd had no idea where the guy was going, but the more distance he could put between himself and the US, the better. Mickey had ended up in Oaxaca, at this little resort, up in the mountains. He asked the girl behind the desk for a room for the week. She had given him a strange look as she passed over the key. Mickey scrunched his face up, scowling at her.  


"What?" he barked. Mickey was still all twisted up about Ian ditching him, and his anger and sadness was leeching into all his interactions these days.  


"American?" she asked, leaning over the desk. Her english was choppy, and heavily accented. Mickey had to concentrate to understand her.  


"What's it to you?" Mickey replied, crossing his arms over his chest.  


"Nothing." the woman smiled. "Are you just passing through? Or are you staying in Oaxaca?"  


"Not sure yet." Mickey replied. What does it matter to this woman where he goes? "I'm staying in country, though." he added on. The idea of living in Mexico for the rest of his life was still foreign to him. The fact that he'd never see Chicago again still hadn't sunk in yet.  


"Well," the girl said, standing from her chair and walking around the counter so she was face to face with Mickey. "I'm sure you'll like it here. Maybe you will stay after all, yes?" she gave him another warm smile, before turning to lead him to his room.  


And she was right. Mickey had stayed. He'd stayed that first week, mostly keeping to himself. But the longer he stayed at Los Laureles, the more he wanted to stay. It was a gorgeous resort, the mountains looming huge in the background. There were lush gardens and crystal clear rivers to swim in. There was a waterfall not too far from the resort, down a long winding foot path that snakes along the base of the mountain.  


Mickey had never spent so much time in nature in all his life. He was kind of falling in love with it.  


Weeks passed, and Mickey got more comfortable at the resort. He got to know the employees in a way that only a long time resident could. The woman at the desk was nice. Camilla was her name. She was loud and funny and she reminded Mickey a little bit of his sister.  


One day, about a six weeks after Mickey started staying at Los Laureles , Camilla found him lounging by the pool, reading a book. Mickey had never really been all that into reading growing up, but had acquired a taste for it during his last prison stint. There was something cathartic about escaping your reality, immersing yourself in the alternate universe you can find in the pages of a good story.  
It was easy to forget himself in a good book. Forget that he's on the run from the Feds. Forget that he left his home, the only place he's ever known, probably never to return. Forget that the only person he's ever loved abandoned him, once again. Forget that he was alone, would always be alone.  


The more Mickey could forget that shit, the better.  


Camilla had flopped down next to him on an empty lounge chair. She smiled over at him, passing him a beer. "On the house." she smiled.  


"Uh, thanks Camilla." Mickey had said, taking the offered drink and laying his book on the end of the lounge. "You don't have to do shit like that. I have money." and he did. He had Ian's money. He had been wary about spending it, but didn't really have much of a choice. If Ian wanted to assuage his guilt with cold hard cash, who was Mickey to deny him. If it wasn't for that money, Mickey doesn't know where he'd be.  


Certainly not staying at Los Laureles ...  


"I know, Miguel." she laughed. Mickey hated when she called him Miguel. He'd told her his name was Mike, unsure if using his real name was a good idea at the time. "I have been meaning to ask you about that."  


Mickey looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Ask me about what?"  


Camilla shrugged, taking a sip of her own drink. She was a beautiful girl. Probably around Mickey's age, with caramel colored skin and long, dark hair. She had even darker almond shaped eyes. She had to beat the dudes off with a stick. Mickey's seen her dodging guests of the resort the whole time he's been here. It's pretty funny, but she can hold her own.  


"Well, I was just wondering how long you were planning to stay, and if you were in need of funds while you are here." Camilla replied, swirling her finger around the lip of her beer bottle.  


"I'm still not sure." Mickey shrugged. "But I like it here." he said as he looked around the pool area. There were a few people milling around, swimming or sunning themselves. The resort was always pretty full, but the guests were mostly quiet, none of that crazy, drunken vibe you'd see in Cancun or any other party town. Sure, Mickey had seen a couple of fights. He'd walked in on a couple fucking in the jacuzzi not too long ago, and he now knew where to get coke and heroin any time he wanted, in the city on the other side of the mountain. So the place wasn't a convent or anything. But it wasn't nearly as bad as it would be in Mexico City, or any other place like that. Mickey liked the balance, a little bit safe and quiet, a little bit dark and crazy. He could get used to this.  


"Well, I like having you here. You are a model guest. You never cause us any trouble, and your english is amazing."  


"Well, I'm American, so I hope my english would be good." Mickey chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. What the hell was Camilla getting at?  


Mickey and Camilla had become sort of friends since Mickey wandered into the resort. They hung out a lot, even when she was supposed to be working. Mickey liked her. It was nice to have someone to talk to, especially since he was so far from home, and so alone.  


"Well, I don't know your story. Why you are in Mexico, what you want from Mexico. But if you are planning on staying, and you like it here, maybe you would be interested in working for Los Lareles?" she was giving him this cautious, hopeful look, but Mickey was completely confused.  


"You want me to work here? Why?"  


"Like I just said, your english is good." she replied, like that would clarify everything.  


"Yeah, so?" Mickey asked, still at a loss.  


"It is hard to find employees that are fluent in english." Camilla replied. "We are far from the beach, up here in the mountains. We don't get a lot of bilingual people coming through. It could be helpful to have a native english speaker on staff. Especially on the tours."  


"Tours?" Mickey was having a hard time keeping up. He put his beer down on the side table, turning his body to face Camilla completely.  


"Yes, the tours. You saw the sign in the lobby, yes?"  


Mickey thought back to when he'd first arrived at Los Lareles. He hadn't really had a reason to go back to the lobby in the weeks he'd been at the resort. He spent most of his time in his room, or outside, exploring his new reality.  


His mind conjured up an image of a big poster behind the check in desk. It had been a high quality full color poster of the mountains and forests that surrounded the resort. Underneath the picture were big block letter. 

"Let Us Guid You Through The Mexican Mountains. Tours Every Day. Lunch Included." 

Mickey's brow furrowed as he regarded the woman across from him. "You want to give me a job, guiding tours in a country I don't know?"  


Camilla had laughed, her head falling back as an endless peal of giggles tumbled past her lips. "Of course we will train you." she said, like he should have known that. "And your pay and board are also included. Would you be interested in such an arrangement?"  


Mickey was floored. What the hell? Shit like this did not happen to him. He was never lucky. And no one ever did anything out of the kindness of their heart. Camilla had to have an angle.  


"Why?" Mickey asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why would you do that for me?"  


"Do what?" Camilla asked, mirroring his posture. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him playfully. "Try to help you? I don't know. I must be a sucker for strays."  


"What the...I am not a stray. What gave you that impression?" Mickey scowled. Fuck Camilla and her opinions.  


"Miguel, you come here, alone. You tell me you have no plan. You tell me you have no one waiting for you to return. You tell me you have no home." she said, a sad smile on her face.  


He suddenly regretted every drunken conversation he'd had with the woman. He can hardly believe he said all that shit to her. He must have been black-out plastered to spill that much information. He had a sudden spike of fear, hoping beyond hope he hadn't told her his real identity, or why he was really in Mexico. His mind was reeling, but Camilla continued on, oblivious to Mickey's inner turmoil.  


"You say you have no one that loves you. Nowhere to go, nowhere to belong. This is the definition of a stray." Camilla's voice was void of all teasing now. She was staring at him, her face the perfect picture of compassion and sympathy.  


The look made Mickey bristle. He didn't need anyone's fucking pity.  


But he did need a job. And a place to stay.  


So he kept his feelings and his worries to himself, forcing a small smile onto his face. "That's a real nice offer, Camilla. But don't you need to talk to your boss or whatever?"  


"I think my father trusts my judgement. This resort will all be mine someday, anyway." Camilla smirked at Mickey, bringing her beer back up to her lips.  


"Wait a second. Your family owns this place? And you work the desk?" Mickey did not expect that.  


"I do whatever is necessary." Camilla nodded. "Are you interested?"  


Mickey laughed, picking his beer back up and taking a long, satisfying sip. He's not about to shit all over his newfound good fortune.  


The Sierra Madre Mountains was not where he expected to end up. And he certainly didn't see himself working at some bougious resort in said mountains, but Mickey was never good at planning his own life. 

Maybe it was time to just roll with whatever falls into his lap for a while.  


"Yeah, Camilla." Mickey nodded, a genuine smile splitting his lips. "I'm defiantly interested." 

***

That was months ago now, and Mickey had acclimated to his new home and his new job remarkably well. Milkovichs were survivors, after all. Mickey could adapt to anything in order to get by.  


He grabs his coffee, wandering around to the small living area where his boyfriend is still reading the news on the laptop. Mickey falls down next to him, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the screen.  


"Tell me again why we give a shit what happens back home?" Mickey asked, reaching up to grab the remote. He turned on the TV, cuing up the american Netflix. Thank god Levi knew how to work it, because Mickey was still nowhere near fluent in spanish, and he didn't know what he'd do without TV.  


He settled on one of the million Marvel superhero movies, leaning back into the couch cushions and getting comfortable.  


"You have to work, Possum." Levi repeated his earlier statement, nudging Mickey off the couch with his elbow.  


"Fuck off." Mickey replied, smiling. "I've got time. I just wanna watch while I drink my coffee. Is that okay with you, warden?"  


Levi chuckled, shrugging his shoulders before turning his attention back to the laptop.  


"Seriously, though." Mickey sighed, watching his boyfriend scour the internet for news back in the states. "Why do you do that?"  


Levi was from Maryland. He'd moved down to Mexico after his rich, super religious family had disowned him for being gay. He and Mickey had that in common. Among other things.  


They had grown up in completely different worlds, but were very much the same. Levi's mom was an alcoholic. But they had enough money to keep her in a steady cycle of binge drinking, rehab, repeat. His father was a big time business man at some Fortune 500 company, a deacon at his church and well connected in all the right ways. He'd sent Levi to Mexico once he'd learned he was gay. They were adamant that their son's deviant lifestyle not taint their 'perfect family' image.  


Levi's parents sent him money, once a month. Five thousand dollars on the first of the month, without fail.  


They said it was to help him support himself so far from home. Levi insisted it was hush money. As long as he stayed in Oaxaca and did not broadcast his family's shameful secret, they would keep supplementing his income.  


Levi hated it, but was in no position to refuse it.  


Mickey always told him he was lucky. How different would his life had been if Terry had just let him go instead of trying to beat him into submission? Told him to leave and never come back instead of forcing him to fuck a hooker at gunpoint, then to marry her to keep the illusion alive? Would Mickey be a different person? Or would he still be the broken, fucked up mess he is now? There's no real way of knowing, and it doesn't matter. What's done is done, there is nothing he can do to change it now.  


"Why do I do what? Check the news back home?" Levi asked, turning to face Mickey. "I want to stay in the loop. I miss it sometimes. Don't you?"  


"No." Mickey lied, shaking his head. "Ain't shit to miss in Chicago. Trust me." he gulped down the rest of his coffee, flinching as it burned his throat on the way down. "I'ma get in the shower. We gotta be at work soon." he stood from the couch, running his fingers through Levi's dark hair as he walked by.  


Levi leaned into the touch like a cat, laughing. "That's what I've been saying this whole time. Get your ass in the god damn shower. Resort life awaits us, possum."  


Mickey laughed to, flipping Levi off over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom at the back of the cabin. He closes the door behind him before stripping off his boxers and tossing them into the laundry basket. He turns the water on and jumps in before it's even warm. It's so hot outside, the cold water feels good against his heated skin.  


As he grabs up the soap and starts washing his body, his mind is drawn back to his boyfriend. He still can't believe that this life he has now is the result of what amounts to random happenstance.  


Unbelievable.

*** 6 months ago  


Mickey didn't work out as a tour guide. He didn't have the disposition or the patience for it. Camilla found it hilarious, and oddly endearing, when he went off on someone for one random slight or another.  


They were seated in the garden at the back of the property after dinner one night about six months into Mickey's new life at Los Lareles. Mickey still angry that Camilla's father Samuel had rejected him for the job.  


"Okay, I get it." he said, fuming. "I'm rude, and short with people, and stupid fucking questions piss me off. But that doesn't mean I can't work with the public."  


"Miguel, that's exactly what it means." Camilla laughed. "But no worries, Papa says he will have you on as something else. What do you like to do?"  


"Fuck if I know. It's not like I have a shit ton of work experience before I came down here." Mickey still hasn't told Camilla anything about him. She has no idea what kind of life he led before crossing the border. He would like to keep it that way, if possible. None of that shit mattered anymore, anyway.  


"How about maintenance?" Camilla suggested, leaning back on her elbows in the grass. "You would spend most of your time outside, yes? Landscaping, fixing thing. You have these skills?"  


Mickey thought about it. He'd been fixing shit on the cheap since he was in middle school. If there was one thing he could do, it was make something not broken, with few tools and little money.  


"Yeah." he nodded, stretching his body out in the grass next to his new friend. His eyes raked over the skyline. The sun was setting and the moon was rising, a few stars smattering across the expansive pink sky. "I could do that."  


"Oh good, Papa will be please." Camilla said. She turned on her side, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look over at Mickey. "You will do wonderfully." 

"Yeah, whatever." Mickey said, looking away. Camilla opened her mouth to reply when someone came barreling out of the resort and down the small stone walkway to the garden.  


Mickey and Camilla sat up, looking between themselves, then up to the newcomer.  


"Camilla Ramirez?" the guy asked. Even in the limited light, Mickey could tell he was hot. Taller than Mickey by a couple inches, with dark, short hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a blue button down shirt and jeans. His arms were covered with tattoos. Two intricate sleeves that started somewhere under the sleeves of his shirt, and only ended at his wrists. The guy was hot as fuck.  


Mickey's a little surprised at the thought. He's obviously had sex since Ian left him, but that was more of a means to an end, as opposed to something based on actual attraction. This is the first time since Mickey arrived in Mexico, that he's actually felt drawn to another man outside of the need to get his rocks off.  


Mickey's not sure how he feels about this odd, instant allure. He chalks it up to loneliness, and pushed away that whisper in his brain that says he's betraying Ian. What kind of bullshit is that? Ian's probably back in Chicago, fucking his Trans Superman boyfriend. Out there saving the world one faggot at a time.  


Besides, it's not like anything's going to happen with this hot new stranger.  


"Yes." Camilla says, effectively pulling Mickey out of his head. "And you are?"  


"Levi Straussman." the guy says, extending his hand. "I'm here for the tour guide job."  


Mickey's mouth fell open, his eyes landing on Camilla. She looked over at him, shrugging. Looks like she didn't know he was coming either.  


"Oh, I guess Sam didn't tell you I got the job." Levi said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. "Well, this is awkward." he looked from Camilla to Mickey, giving him a bright smile. Mickey licked his lips, smiling back unconsciously. Camilla watches the exchange closely, her shoulders sagging.  


Well, that explains why Miguel never picked up on any of her flirting. Why were all the prettiest boys gay? Oh well. Maybe this little crush on the new tour guide will be good for Miguel, help him get over who ever broke his heart and drove him to the mountains and away from his old life.  


Camilla may not know much, but she know heartache when she sees it, and her new friend is a walking memorial to his own broken heart. Whoever this other person was, they had hurt that boy deeply.  


"Well, that's just wonderful." Camilla says clapping her hands once. "You are sure to be a great addition to the Los Laureles team." she turned to Mickey. "This is Mike, he is also a new edition."  


"Uh, Camilla," Mickey said before he could stop himself. "You can call me Mickey. I prefer it." Mickey may be hiding from the law, but he didn't want his new life to be built on a foundation of lies. He likes Camilla, and they seem to be building an actual friendship. He's surprised to find that he hopes one day to be able to tell Camilla the whole truth. He's never been much of a fan of honesty. It's always been more trouble than it's worth, and usually ends with him being hurt somehow.  


But he's not that guy anymore. Or at least, he's trying not to be.  


So, his real name was a good place to start, he supposes.  


"Oh." Camilla said, a little surprised. But then she smiled. "I like that better. Fits you." Camilla feels a small bubble of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Mickey may just let her in after all. She wasn't lying when she said she had a soft spot for strays. She has only know Mickey for a few months now, but in that short time she realized two things. First, he is a vault. He only ever shows you what he wants you to see, and often times he is lying. Second, he is desperate to be more honest. Camilla can see him struggling, wanting to tell her things, but holding back. She can only hope that someday, he will let that go, and trust her enough to relieve himself of that burden.  


Mickey smiled back, feeling surprisingly relieved.  


"Anyway," Camilla said. "MICKEY, would you like to show Levi to room 212? I will talk to my Papa about getting you situated in employee quarters, but for now you can stay in the guest suites, yeah?"  


"Sounds good. Thank you." Levi said, locking eyes with Mickey. Mickey smiled again, grateful the sun was down so no one could see his skin flushed with the blush he felt all over his face. "This way." Mickey said, giving Levi one last lingering look before he started back up the stone path to the resort's main building.  


Camilla watched them go, wondering once again if or when her new friend would let her in. She's not surprised he used a fake name when they first met. Her intuition says Mickey has a lot to hide from. She had a feeling that whatever was waiting behind Mickey's walls was a lot worse than him just being gay.  


But she doesn't mind. She believes in following her gut, and her gut tells her that this man is a good one, who just needs a chance to start his life over.  


She smiles to herself as she watches the two men enter the resort, wondering if this is the beginning of something truly beautiful.  


***  


After that initial meeting, Mickey and Levi were pretty much inseparable. They ate meals together, shared drinks by the pool, took walks around the grounds together. Mickey would do his work, trimming the grass or repairing a stone wall, as Levi familiarized himself with the resort and the guide trails. Levi's training was much more extensive than Mickey's. He had to learn the terrain and the trails before he could start leading tours.  


Levi is an awesome guy. He's funny, and he's nice. He and Mickey seem to share the same taste in a lot of things. Music, TV, movies. Hell, they've even read a lot of the same books. The conversation flows easily between them, even if Mickey's keeping the subjects generic and casual. Mickey really enjoyed hanging out with him.  


Mickey doesn't even know if Levi's open to banging dudes, so he tries to keep his glances short, the conversation friendly and impersonal. No one here even knows he's gay, and he sees no reason to out himself just yet.  


But he can't help but feel like there's some vibe between them. At least there is, on his end.  


It was the day before Levi was to lead his first tour. He showed up at Mickey's cabin with two coffees. Mickey had just moved from his suite in the main building to one of the employee cabins along the perimeter of the resort. It was the first time Mickey ever had his own place, and the whole thing still felt kind of like a dream.  


Mickey had opened the door, surprised to find Levi standing on the other side. It was a little after nine in the morning, and Mickey wasn't working all day. He suddenly remembered he was barely dressed. He looked from Levi down to his own bare chest and boxer-clad legs. He could feel his face heating up, so he crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. "Levi, what's up?"  


"Uh, well." Levi started, extending one of the coffee cups. "Camilla said I could find you here. She said that you may be interested in accompanying me down the trails today. One last test run before I start giving tours tomorrow."  


Now, Mickey's not new to dudes flirting with him. He had his fair share of that following Ian around those fruity clubs back home. And he'd also seen a lot of it in Mexico too, at the gay bars he frequented along his way to Oaxaca. But for some reason, with Levi, Mickey had misread the signals. Sure, Mickey knew they'd been hanging out a lot, and Mickey had caught Levi staring at him more than once. But never in his wildest dreams did he think a dude like Levi would be interested in a guy like him.  


And that's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Mickey didn't think he was worth a guy like Levi. He had always known Ian was too good for him. Why would a guy like Ian or Levi want someone like Mickey?  


He'd hit the lottery with Ian. He didn't expect to ever get that lucky again.  


Levi's smile started to fade as the silence dragged on. Mickey silently berated himself for being such a weirdo.  


Hell, this was supposed to be his new start, right? Maybe if he did the opposite of what he's always done, he'll get a different result.  


So he smirked, moving away so Levi can step across the threshold. Relief washed over the other man's face as he stepped inside. Mickey finally took the offered coffee, placing it on the low table in the living room. 

"Camilla sent you, huh?" he asked. When Levi nodded, giving him a shy smile, Mickey realized that maybe he hadn't been keeping a lid on his queerness as much as he thought he was. He'd have to talk to Camilla about this little set-up she's orchestrated.  


And thank her too, probably.  


"You mind if I get dressed? We can go right away, if you're ready."  


Levi nodded, his eyes raking across Mickey's bare chest.  


And got stuck on the tattoo there.  


Fuck.  


"My ex." Mickey says. He hates explaining the shit show of a tattoo on his chest. "Gonna get it covered when I can put some money together." he doesn't even realize what he's said until he sees Levi cringe in sympathy at his words.  


Mickey doesn't really want to talk about Ian right now. Actually, he doesn't want to think about Ian, ever if he can help it.  


Levi just nodded, smiling. "Ex, huh?" he asked, eyebrows raised.  


Mickey nodded, pursing his lips. "What does it matter to you?"  


"It doesn't." Levi shook his head playfully. "Unless it somehow affects my chances with you."  


Mickey barked out a laugh, a light, airy feeling taking root in his gut.  


So Levi actually likes him after all. The flirty, tense vibe Mickey has been feeling was not all in his head. Levi's interested in Mickey's ghetto ass?  


Shit, maybe his luck really is changing...  


***  


That was months ago now. And Mickey had kept his promise to himself to do shit different this time. He and Levi had taken it slow, by Mickey's standards. They did shit like have dinner, watch movies, walk the grounds. The had drinks at the bar, talking and getting to know each other. A few times a week, one of them will spend the night in the other's cabin. It's oddly domestic, and feels insanely normal.  


Levi told him all about his life back in the states, his past relationships. His wants and desires, his hopes for the future.  


Mickey, on the other hand, gives Levi the abridged version of his life story. Snippets and tidbits of his childhood, his history. Much like Camilla, Mickey's not ready to truly open up to Levi.  


Mickey wants to be honest with him, but he didn't know if it was safe to or not. So he kept some of the gorier details to himself. Like the attempted murder charge, and the prison escape. He also didn't tell Levi about his wife or son, or how all that came to be.  


He did tell him about Ian. Not everything, but enough for Levi to understand why Mickey was reticent about relationships, and why he wanted to go slow this time. He told him about his childhood and his father. He told Levi more shit than he'd ever told anyone.  


Except for Ian, of course.  


No one would ever know Mickey like Ian did.  


But Mickey was making peace with that fact, and learning to be happy with what he had.  


And he was, he was happy. As happy as Mickey had ever been, all things considered.  


They had waited three weeks to have sex. Levi said he wanted them to be sure they were in it for more than a quick fuck. He wanted to know they were going somewhere before they crossed that line. Because mixing business with pleasure was always messy, he wanted to be sure their relationship was on solid ground before they moved to the next level. They had to work together, after all, even if their relationship went south.  


Mickey had never done that before. Got to know someone before he fucked them. It was different, but not bad.  


The sex had been incredible, when it finally happened. They moved together effortlessly, and Mickey let himself go in every way. Levi knows nothing of the Mickey who didn't allow kissing. He would never know that Mickey had once refused to fuck face to face, or that he used to be adamantly against sucking cock. Levi would never know about any of Mickey's stupid old hang ups. Mickey's newfound freedom extended into the bedroom, it seems, and both men are reaping the benefits.  


Mickey's happy. He's content and he feels free and he's hopeful that this is his honest to god fresh start.  


He actually believes, for the first time, that he can let Ian go.  


These thoughts are playing through his head the whole time he's in the shower. He can't believe how much has changed for in the months since he moved to Oaxaca. He smiles to himself as he steps out of the shower.  


"Possum." Levi's voice filters through the bathroom door. Mickey chuckles. As far as asshole faggy pet names go, possum has to be the worst of the worst. He'd told his boyfriend as much, and it only spurred the prick on more. Mickey's hoping if he ignores it, Levi will get bored and stop calling him that. "Can you come out here?"  


Mickey's brow furrows. What now?  


"I'm just finishing up." he calls back, pulling clean underwear on and wandering back into the living room, running a towel over his wet hair. "What's up?"  


"I just got off the phone with Camilla. You are staying home today." Levi said. He was still sitting on the couch, laptop open in front of him. No doubt he was still scrolling through US news stories.  


"Why? She don't need me?" Mickey asked, dropping his towel on the floor and kneeling on the sofa. "Whatever." he smiles, moving to straddle his boyfriend. "I can think of a lot of things we can do with eight free hours." he tips his head down to bite Levi's shoulder, soothing the mark with his tongue as he slowly ground his hips down on his boyfriend's lap. When he feels no reaction, he pulls back, confused. "What? What's up?"  


Levi's face is serious, and Mickey's heart sinks. Shit. What did he do? What did Mickey do wrong?  


"I called you out." Levi says. "I think you will want some time to yourself when you see this." he grabs Mickey by the shoulders and gently pushes him to sit next to him on the couch. Levi points to the laptop and Mickey tenses.  


Something bad happened back home. Mickey can see it in his boyfriend's eyes. His thoughts immediately go to his sister, his son... and Ian.  


Mickey grabs the laptop and pulls it onto his lap. It's open to the Chicago Sun Times website. An article is already cued up, and Mickey's heart sinks when he reads the header.  


"Gay rights advocate held without bail following kidnapping and arson charges."  


What the fuck?  


Mickey's eyes scan the article as his heart starts pounding in his chest. The more he reads, the harder it is for him to breath. 

'Ian Gallager, age 22, was arrested Monday at the scene of an explosion. He has become well known in the Chicago area over the last few months due to his volunteer work with at risk youth in the LGTBQI community. What started out as an outreach program morphed into a religious mission. Mr. Gallagher is known among his followers as "Gay Jesus", and his videos on YouTube have hundreds of thousands of hit. His message that Jesus love gay people was well received and his followers quickly grew in number.....'

Mickey feels sick. What the hell has Ian gotten himself into? Is he taking his meds? Is anyone looking out for him? It certainly doesn't seem that way. Is he some kind of cult leader now? Ian's never been religious. 

Hell, Mickey thought he was an atheist.  


Mickey reads the rest of the article. What he can gather from it is that Ian was hiding a runaway kid, who's parents wanted to send him to one of those queer conversion camps. Mickey gets what Ian was trying to do, but it looks like he went about it all wrong. If Mickey were there, he'd have hid that kid way better, no one would have ever found him. But Ian had never been good at planning shit like that. He forgets simple, but important details. He gets too caught up in the excitement to think practically. Mickey was always better at the criminal shit, Ian was never meant for a life like that.  


Mickey continues reading, a sick, sinking feeling pooling in his gut.  


Looks like the runaway kid's parents found him anyway, and were waiting to take him away from the Gay Jesus rally, in a van. A van Ian somehow blew to smithereens. Someone also caught the whole exchange on their phone, and loaded it to a "Gay Jesus" YouTube page. It was a huge scene, a mob of queers. The DA is even charging Ian with inciting a riot. The guy's got all the proof he needs, Ian handed it to the state on a silver fucking platter.  


Mickey had warned Ian a million times about having evidence of a crime. Who in their right mind video tapes an arson?  


Mickey already knows Ian will do time for this shit. It's inevitable. He finishes reading the article, pushing the laptop away in disgust.  


"Levi, what the fuck? Why would you want me to see this?" Mickey asks, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. Fuck, no. He is not going to cry over this shit. Ian got himself into this mess. It's got nothing to do with Mickey.  


Mickey's mind is immediately drawn back to the border. Ian had told him that Mickey's life was not for him anymore. Pretty much insinuating that Mickey was a dangerous criminal, and Ian could not have that kind of chaos in his life.  


That's the reason Ian gave when he left him.  


Looks like that was a bunch of bullshit.  


Because Mickey is the one living the normal life now, and Ian is cooling his heels in the fucking slammer.  


If that's not ironic, Mickey doesn't know what is.  


"Because I know you care, possum." Levi replies, pulling Mickey close with a hand around his shoulder. He just hold him for a moment, the quiet of the cabin descending on them. "What do you want to do about it?"  


"What do you mean?" Mickey asks, not bothering to look up. He keeps his eyes trained on the laptop, on the picture of Ian's mug shot.  


Ian's smiling. He's got that wide, proud, manic smile on his face. And it makes Mickey feel infinitely more distressed.  


"He's important to you." Levi says, like it should be obvious. "I know we can't do much, but we should at least do something. For him, and for you. For your own peace of mind. If you do nothing, you will feel worse and worse. I know you."  


Mickey sighed, laying his head on Levi's shoulder.  


He was right. Even if he never saw Ian again, he couldn't just do nothing. Ian needed help. And Mickey could never just look the other way. Not with Ian.  


Levi lays a tender kiss to Mickey's head, as Mickey gets lost in his own mind.  


What the hell is he supposed to do now?

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Ian lays on his cot, drumming his fingers on his chest.  


How did he get here? What the fuck happened?  


He's still not sure.  


Obviously, he is in trouble. But he doesn't feel like he should be punished for what he did. He was standing up for people who had no voice. People who couldn't fight for themselves. He was doing good work. 

God's work. 

He doesn't know when that started being a crime, but what can he do about it now?  


He's been in jail for two weeks now. Waiting out the DA. He's facing some serious charges right now. Or at least that's what his public defender, and Fiona keep telling him.  


Inciting a riot.  
Contributing to the delinquency of a minor.  
Arson.  
Assault.  
Kidnapping.  


It all sounds like total and utter bullshit to Ian. It's not all that serious.  


Okay, maybe the explosion was a little excessive, but he was trying to make a point.  


And make a point he did. Gay Jesus is a big fucking deal now. Or at least it was before he got locked up. He has no way of knowing now, since no one answers his calls or comes to visit.  


Ian's been trying to reach Trevor for days now, but the guy never accepts his calls. Ian doesn't want to think too long on the implications of his unanswered calls.  


Ian had just gotten back from a visit with the prison shrink. She seems to think this whole debacle can be explained away by his bipolar disorder. Ian's not sure how to feel about that.  


He doesn't like the idea that all his work with those kids is going to be reduced to his disorder. Like none of the good work he did matters, because of one screw up.  


He sighs, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. His cellmate is on work detail, or whatever. Ian can't work, since he's still being evaluated by the shrink. How long does that shit take? He's crazy. He knows it, now the whole world knows it. What does that doctor have to figure out?  


Whatever.  


He just wishes he had something to DO. Something to occupy the endless hours in this bleak place. You can only work out so much, and he has limited time outside his cell anyway. His charges make him a level II offender, and his freedoms inside the prison are severely reduced.  


He wonders, yet again, how Mickey ever did so much time. Ian's going out of his mind, and it's only been a few weeks. He's bored. Not to mention scared. And so fucking lonely.  


No one comes to see him. Fiona has come once, to discuss the case with his public defender. But he hasn't heard from her since. He's tried calling her, and Lip, but no one ever accepts the charges. He doesn't know if it's the insane amount of money the prison charges for phone calls, (a dollar a minute is a lot) or if his family is trying to distance themselves from him and his absurd behavior. He wouldn't be surprised if they were done with him. His family has been through so much already, it's not fair to ask them to stick by him while the state of Illinois puts him through the ringer.  


He's not sure how he'll survive in prison on his own, with no one on the outside to support him.  


His mind is yet again drawn to Mickey.  


He didn't understand, back then, why Mickey would do something as insane and desperate as orchestrate an escape from prison. But Ian understands now. He can't imagine doing fifteen god damn years in this hell hole.  


He kind of wishes he could go back in time. Visit Mickey more, be there for him. Because being in jail sucks, and doing it alone is torture. Ian feels guilt pool in his gut, and not for the first time. He can't help but go over the past again and again, pulling it apart in his mind and dissecting all his choices. The paths he's taken, the ones he turned away from. He can't help but feel like he's lost his way, somewhere along the line.  


The prison shrink has adjusted his meds. She seems to think that most of his behavior over the past few months can be explained away by his disorder. She says that significant stressors can cause an episode.  


Ian is inclined to agree. First, Mickey escaped, and Ian went on that unreal joyride to the border, only to pussy out at the last moment. Leaving Mickey had profoundly fucked him up, and once he got home to find out Monica had died, he had only spiraled worse.  


He couldn't see it at the time, of course. He never notices it while it's happening. Only after the inevitable crash can he look back and see how truly batshit he was really acting. He wonders, not for the first time, why no one noticed.  


Fiona had asked him once, if he was taking his meds. But she knows as well as he does, that meds shit the bed sometimes. Just stop working, for no real reason. He knows it's not her responsibility to monitor him, but she's his big sister, and he's always counted on her to watch out for him.  


But Fiona had her own shit going on. With her apartment building, and her fight with Debbie.  


Everyone had their own problems to deal with, so Ian had fallen through the cracks. It's happened so many times before, you'd think he'd be used to it. But it still stings.  


Lip is a disaster in his own right these days. Drinking, then sober, then drinking again. Ian knows he can't count on him right now, and he feels a little guilty too, for not being there for his brother when he needed him. What a clusterfuck. 

Everything is such a fucking mess right now. 

Ian wonders where Lip is, why he hasn't visited him yet. He's afraid of the implications of his brother's absence. Is he mad at Ian? Or is he in some kind of trouble of his own? Is he unable to make contact, or is he avoiding Ian?  


All these questions repeat on a loop in Ian's head as he lays in his bunk. He's got a massive headache and he covers his head with the threadbare sheet he has thrown over his body.  


How is this his life now? Where did he go wrong?  


Just then the cell door opens and a tall, muscular CO is standing there with his cellmate. "Inside, Mills." the guard says, unhooking Marcus's handcuffs and herding him inside the small cell.  


Marcus is an okay cellmate. Doing six months for a bar fight at some hip hop club downtown. He's just a regular guy that got a little too drunk and broke someone's face with a beer bottle. Ian thinks that kind of thing could happen to anybody.  


Marcus is cool in the fact that he doesn't give a shit that Ian's gay. He was aware of Ian in the way the whole prison was. Gay Jesus has a far reach apparently, and everywhere Ian goes in the jail, someone is there yammering about his crimes.  


Sometimes, they think it's funny. Other times they wanna kick Ian's faggot ass all over the yard. So Ian's been in a few scuffles. So far, he hasn't taken a serious beating. He has no back up to speak of. He has no crew, no one to have his back inside. He spends what little time he has outside his cell alone. Marcus has his own crew of associates, and even if Marcus is okay with Ian being gay, his friends are not. So Ian keeps to himself more often than not.  


"Hey Gallagher." Marcus says, dropping down on his bunk. He pulls his shoes off and lays down on his cot, tucking his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. "How's it going?"  


"Same shit, different day." Ian mumbles.  


"You hear from your friend?" Marcus asks, not bothering to look over.  


Ian bristles. He'd mentioned to Marcus a few days ago that he'd sent a letter to Trevor. Much like Lip, Trevor would not accept any of Ian's calls. So Ian had borrowed a stamp from Marcus and written him a letter instead. Ian had tired to explain himself, justify his actions. He'd apologized, over and over. He'd pretty much begged Trevor to write him back, or to answer his calls. That was more than a week ago now, and still no letter. Still no answer when he tried to call.  


"No." Ian replies quiety. "No word."  


Marcus hums, but says nothing more.  


Ian's not sure where he stands with Trevor now, but if he had to guess, he'd say it's over between them. Trevor had started distancing himself long before Gay Jesus took off. That shit with Monica's funeral. The trip to the Chub Club. Ian doesn't know how he didn't see it at the time, but it's obvious now. His relationship with Trevor had been over since Ian got back from the border. Ian looks back on the months before his arrest with profound embarrassment. He'd chased Trevor all over Chicago like some pathetic little bitch. It doesn't even make sense to Ian, and it's his own actions he's trying to decipher.  


He doesn't even have romantic feelings for Trevor anymore. He's not sure if he ever really did, or if he was just lonely. Ian's starting to realize that he's a serial dater. Going from guy to guy, trying to fill some kind of void inside himself. Trevor was just the latest in a long list of failed attempts to distract Ian from his own short comings. Hell, even his short stint as cult leader can be traced back to his own feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy.  


God, this prison shrink is really doing a number on him. 

*** 3 months later

Over the course of his time in jail, Ian has come to terms with the fact that he's been unbalanced since he returned from the border to find out his mother died. Slowly slipping into some kind of low-grade mania that skewed his world view and pushed him to all these outlandish actions, ultimately culminating in his incarceration. His prison shrink has him on some new meds, and even though he can feel the hooks of his depression trying to pull him down, so far he's resisted it.  


He reads, he works out, sometimes he'll go down to the common room to watch TV. He writes to Debbie, and to Carl at school. He tries calling Fiona and Lip once every few days, but hasn't spoken to either of them yet. He meets with his lawyer, who's trying to work out some kind of plea deal. Ian will probably end up having to do some actual time. He's still trying to wrap his head around the idea.  


Time goes simultaneously fast and slow in jail, and before Ian knows it, three months have passed. His public defender has set up a meeting with the state at the end of the month, to discuss a plea. Ian has no idea what kind of time he's looking at, but he's trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  


He found his way to the library, where he picks up three books (the most he's allowed to take out at a time.) He's still not allowed to work, since apparently that privilege is only for convicted inmates. Ian's still an AT Status inmate. Awaiting Trial. That's what they call prisoners like Ian who are still waiting the outcome of their trials. It's a strange kind of limbo where you can't do a whole hell of a lot. You can't work any prison jobs, you can't take any offered classes. You can't order from the full commissary list. Not that Ian's ordering much from commissary anyway. He's got no money. Fiona sent him twenty bucks at the beginning of the month, but the prison store is strangely expensive. He spent the money on basic toiletries. Marcus helps him out sometimes, letting Ian get a soup, or some jolly ranchers. It's crazy how much those small little luxuries can brighten your mood.  


As Ian lays on his bunk, one day a few weeks before his meeting with the prosecutor, sucking on a sour apple candy, he finds his thoughts again being drawn to his ex.  


Mickey.  


Ian has no idea how Mickey ever did so much time. It's so dull. So repetitive. So god damn lonely.  


Ian can feel the guilt swelling inside him once more. He really never thought too much about what Mickey went through in prison. He hadn't wanted to, it was too painful. But now that he's living it himself, he can see how selfish he was.  


All Ian wants is someone to answer his calls. Someone to write him back. Someone to put some money on his books so he can buy real soap. 

Someone to visit him.  


He doesn't think that's too much to ask, and yet he couldn't be bothered to do any of those things while Mickey was locked up.  


Karma is a bitch. That's what they say, right?  


Ian groans, throwing a hand over his face. How is this his life?  


"Yo." Marcus says, wandering in the open cell door. "Mails in." he drops down on his bunk, opening up his newest copy of XXL his girlfriend sends him each month. Ian sits up on his bunk, looking across the room to his celly, who is pointedly ignoring him in favor of his newest distraction.  


"What the fuck do I care if the mail is here, Marcus?" Ian said, his tone a little salty. "I DON'T GET mail."  


"Well, you got some this time, asshole." Marcus spat back, glaring at Ian over the top of his magazine. "CO told me to send you down to get it. But I don't give a fuck if you do or not. Your lonely ass has been whining for weeks. 'No one writes, no one visits, no one cares'." Marcus's impression of Ian's distraught voice was high and girly. "It's all you ever talk about. Maybe if you get your ass down to the office and scoop up that damn letter, you'll shut the fuck up about it for a couple days. Jesus."  


Ian stood up so fast his head spun. He was out of the room and striding toward the office before he knew what he was doing. He could hear Marcus laughing at him the whole way down the hallway, but he couldn't be bothered to care.  


Someone finally wrote him.  


He can't believe how much that one simple fact has lifted his spirits.  


He didn't want to admit it, to himself or anyone else, but he was scared, and felt more alone than he's ever felt in his entire life. Just the idea that someone out in the real world is thinking of him is enough to change his whole attitude.  


He comes upon the office, and there is still a small line. He stands in the back, tapping his foot on the tile as he waits his turn.  


The line goes fast, and soon he's standing in front of the female CO who works the office.  


"Hi." Ian says, unsure how this works. This is his first time getting mail the whole time he's been here.  


"Name and inmate number." the woman replies, her eyes focused on the list in her hands.  


"Um, Ian Gallagher. M65235" Ian replied, reciting his ID number by memory.  


The woman looked at his ID badge, double checking his credentials before turning to a bin full of letters. She shuffled through it, pausing here and there to look at an envelope before dropping it and going back to sifting. Finally her fingers wrapped around an envelope and she slid it across the counter to him.  


Ian nodded his thanks, grabbing the envelope and reading the return address.  


His heart lodged in his throat as he read the address over and over. 

Mandy Milkovich  
1819 W Division St, Chicago, IL 60622 

Mandy was back in Chicago? Living in Ukrainian Village? Since fucking when? How did she hear about his problems? Did she see him on the news too? On the internet? Did she read about him in the papers?  


Ian feels sick with humiliation. The idea that his friend knows he's here embarrasses him to no end.  


This shit can not get any worse.  


He walks quickly to get back to his cell. Fast enough to get there as soon as possible, but not fast enough to draw the attention of the guards. Running is one of the million things he's not allowed to do in this place. He is always careful, watching his every move as to not draw the attention of the CO's.  


He makes it back to his cell and sits on his bunk. Marcus is gone again, god only knows where, and Ian's glad for it. He wants to be alone when he reads what Mandy has to say.  


He rips the envelope open and unfolds the paper. He takes one look at the letter, and stops breathing.  


The note falls from his fingers, floating in the air for a moment like a paper plane before wafting under Marcus's bed on some non-existent breeze.  


That was not Mandy's handwriting.  


Ian dropped to his knees on the cold concrete floor, his hand shooting under Marcus's bunk as he blindly searches for his letter.  


He'd know that chicken scratch anywhere.  


This can't be happening.  


His fingers close around the letter and he sits back up on the floor, not even bothering to get back on his bunk. He takes a deep breath, just holding the folded paper for a moment. He closes his eyes against the sting of tears, biting his lip as he regains his composure.  


He nods to himself once before unfolding the letter.  


Okay, he can do this. 

 

Ian,  
I'd ask how you are, but that would be a stupid fucking question, wouldn't it? Seems like you've gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, huh?  
There is so much shit I could say right now, but what difference would it make? Nothing would change. You'd still be in jail, and I'd still be wherever I am.  
I saw you on the internet. We get the Chicago Sun Times, not that I want it. Levi thinks it's important for me to keep up with the happenings back home. I usually think he's full of shit, but I'm going to have to agree with him this one time.  
I have to be honest, when you left me this last time, spouting off all that shit about how 'this isn't you anymore', I thought that meant you were gonna stay out of trouble, not go looking for it.  
Are you okay? Is anyone helping you take care of yourself? I know you hate this line of questioning, but I have to wonder. Because if someone over there gave a single shit about what you were up to, I wouldn't be writing this letter. (you know how much I hate to write.)  
I know it's not really my business anymore, but I can't fucking help it.  
I'm always going to care. Even if you don't anymore.  
I'm assuming they're gonna wanna give you some kind of plea. My advice would be to take it. I read up on your charges, and it's some serious shit. You could do a lot of time, Ian. If they offer you anything less that 2 1/2 years, fucking take it and run. You could end up doing 8 if you go to trial.  
I know it's hard, and I know you're probably scared shitless, but you know I know what I'm talking about, at least as far as jail goes, right?  
I can't imagine you are getting many visitors. Your family has always been kinda flaky, especially concerning you. I also saw an interview with your douche bag boyfriend, on Yahoo. Or ex-boyfriend now, I guess. He's saying all kinds of fucked up shit about you, Ian. How you are unstable, how you scared him. How he was a victim of your irrational, crazy behavior, how he felt trapped by you, and all other manner of horse manure.  
You always had shit taste in men, didn't you?  
I hope you stay the fuck away from that guy. I'm not saying this with any ulterior motives, I just want you to be happy. And I honestly don't think that kid gives a shit about you. The way he's talking about you in these interviews, he's making it sound like you held him hostage or something.  
Anyway. I asked Mandy to visit you. She should start coming by once a week sometime in September. She misses you. I sent this letter from her address, so feel free to drop her a line. She'll be waiting to hear from you. So go down to the office and put her on your visitors list, if you wanna.  
I know how lonely it can be inside.  
I don't know if you give a damn, and it's probably an asshole move on my part to tell you, but since this is most likely the last time we'll talk, I'm gonna tell you anyway....  
I'm happy.  
Like, honest to god, no faking, real deal fucking happy.  
I found a place down here, it's fucking paradise man. Beautiful country. Nice people. I have a legit job, a nice house, and actual friends.  
And I met someone. He treats me good, likes being around me. Says I'm good for him.  
Can you believe that shit? I don't know if anyone's ever told me that. Not even you.  
I haven't been to the ocean yet. The idea still leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I think you can guess why. But I think I'm almost over that.  
I think I'm almost over you.  
Because I'm not mad anymore. I'm not bitter, and I'm not sad.  
I guess I get why you thought you couldn't come, but that all seems kinda silly now, doesn't it?  
I'm not saying any of this shit to hurt you. All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. With me, without me, whatever. But it doesn't seem like you're happy now.  
I know it's not my place to ask you to make me any promises. But I want to ask you to promise yourself something....  
Promise yourself you're going to fix what the fuck ever is wrong with you. If it's your bipolar, or something else, figure it out. Because I think you know as well as I do, something's not right.  
The Ian I've known all these years would not be in the situation you find yourself in right now.  
Anyway, I just wanted to write you real quick. To let you know you're not alone. I've got your back, even if I'm not right there. Mandy will be there for you too, however long you're locked up. If you have any problems in there, tell her. Iggy's still got connections inside. We'll set up a beat down if we have to.  
We're here for you, Ian.  
Just one thing: please don't try to write me back. I have to keep my distance after this. I'm trying to move forward with my life, and I can't do that if I keep getting stuck in the past with you.  
I love you, Ian. Always have, always will. But I can't do this with you anymore.  
Take care of yourself.  


Me

ps: I put some money on your books. A hundred bucks. That should keep you in soups and deodorant at least until you can get a work assignment. 

 

Ian doesn't realize he's crying until the fat wet teardrops start staining the letter. The ink starts to bleed and Ian jumps. He wipes at the paper frantically, desperate to not ruin the letter.  


He has no idea what to do with all this new information, so he just sits on the floor...and fucking cries.

\-------------------------------------------------

"Did you talk to him?" Mickey asked, shifting around in his bed. It was another hot, sticky night, and he couldn't seem to find a way to lay that didn't feel uncomfortable.  


"Yeah, I did." his sister's voice traveled over the line. She sounded tired, and a little sad. "He's not doing so good, Mick."  


"I bet he's not." Mickey replied, taking a sip of his beer. "But I mean, what did he expect? He pulled some crazy shit, and got caught." Mickey shook his head to the empty room. "What did we always tell him about photographic evidence?"  


"Yeah, I get it." his sister replied. "He never was a very good criminal."  


"Cuz he's not supposed to be one. But he went and fucked that all up."  


"Don't be so hard on him." his sister retorted. "You know what he goes through. He just got on a bunch of new meds. His lawyer says they could use his disorder to mitigate his circumstances, get him a lesser sentence."  


"Yeah, he should do that for sure. You and I both know this shit is seriously out of character for him."  


"He misses you." his sister said, her voice quieter than it was moments ago. "He doesn't understand why he can't write you."  


"Do you understand?" Mickey asked. "Do you get what I'm trying to do?"  


He heard Mandy sigh on the other end of the line. This is an argument they've had several times since Mickey had sent his letter to Ian.  


Mandy didn't understand why Mickey refused any further contact. But she had never really understood what Mickey had gone through with Ian. Mickey is just trying to protect himself. He can't move on with his life if he's still all mixed up with Ian.  


And he wants to move on. He thinks he deserves it, after everything.  


"I get it." his sister conceded. "Is this about Levi?" she adds after a beat.  


"Maybe, a little bit." Mickey replies. "But it's mostly about me." he takes a long sip of his beer, trying to get his thoughts in order. After a long moment of silence between the siblings, Mickey speaks again. "I still love him Mands. I probably always will. I'll love him more than I'll ever love anyone else. But what am I supposed to do with that here? He didn't want me. Did you forget that part? He left me again and again. And now that he's locked up, he wants me to do what? Drop my new life, leave a guy that treats me good, so I can be his what? Exclusive pen pal? What the fuck is that bullshit?"  


"Get the fuck over yourself." his sister spat. "Who says he even wants you back? You ever think he just misses you as a friend?"  


Mickey scoffed, not even bothering to dignify that bullshit with a response.  


"Will you at least consider it? Please?" his sister begged. Mandy never begged, and it hit Mickey in that moment, how dire Ian's situation must really be.  


"Yeah, okay." he relents. "I'll think about it."  


His sister made a strange noise on the other line, and Mickey rolled his eyes. "I said I'd think about it. Don't go telling him anything."  


"I won't, I promise. Just, thank you." he could hear Mandy's smile over the line, and he can't help but feel like he just got swindled somehow. "Call you on Friday, okay?"  


"Yeah, whatever." he replied, ready to end this phone call.  


"You're a good guy, Miguel." Mandy said, her voice teasing.  


"Don't fucking call me that." Mickey replied, ending the call as his sister cackled on the other end of the line.  


"That your sister?" Levi asks, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.  


"Yeah." Mickey replies, putting his phone back on the nightstand. "C'mere." he says, holding his arms open. Levi rolls his eyes, but pushes off the wall and wanders over, stripping his clothes along the way.  


After he is naked, he crawls into bed, hovering over Mickey with a hand on either side of his head. He dips his head down, brushing his lips against Mickey's before pulling back again. They just watch each other for a moment. Finally, Levi sighs, dropping down on the mattress next to Mickey and pulling Mickey to lay across his chest with an arm around his shoulder. Mickey rests his head above Levi's heart, running his hand along his stomach distractedly.  


"Did she talk to Ian?" Levi asks. Mickey can't get over how good Levi has been about this whole 'Ian situation'. Levi is the one who encouraged him to write the letter in the first place. It was his idea to send the money too. Something about Mickey getting closure, whatever that means.  


Mickey supposes it was to help him let go, to finally close that door. Although, honestly, Mickey's not sure if the door will ever really be closed.  


But Mickey doesn't feel so stuck anymore, and that's something at least.  


"Yeah, she did. Guess he's not doing that good."  


"Well, why would he be?"  


"That's what I said. Ian's not built for prison."  


"Not like you were, huh?" Levi says sadly.  


Since all this shit with Ian went down, Mickey had sat Levi down and laid all his cards on the table. Told him everything. All the shit he'd held back since they first met. Mickey had been scared shitless, but if he was going to try to move forward with Levi, he had to be totally honest.  


What was the point of starting a relationship with someone, if they had no idea who you really were?  


Mickey had been worried. That the truth would be too much for Levi. The abuse, the crime, the prison escape. His rape, his wife and son. All the shit he did for Ian, all the awful shit he did TO Ian. Mickey was certain that one or all of those things would have been a deal breaker. But Levi had just sighed, saying he knew it was bad, but had no idea it was that bad, and pulled Mickey to his chest. Over and over he told Mickey how sorry he was he'd gone through all that.  


Levi had also, surprisingly, given him hell for being such an asshole for so long. Chewed him out for the way he treated Ian. Told Mickey he'd kick his ass if he ever did any of that shit to him. Mickey appreciated that. He wants to be held accountable now. He doesn't want to fall into the same old, shitty patterns. He doesn't want to run from his problems, or solve them with his fists.  


Levi said he actually felt bad for Ian, which had upset Mickey at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he got it. Mickey had been a grade A prick to Ian for a long time. They had put each other through hell.  


So Levi had a bit of a soft spot for Ian now. How fucking ironic is that?  


"Yeah, exactly. I can deal with jail. He can't."  


"But you broke out. So it's fair to say you can't handle it either." Levi smirked, tightening his grip on Mickey's shoulder when he felt him start to squirm.  


"Fifteen years is a long time." Mickey mumbled. "Can we stop talking about him now?"  


"Sure, possum." Levi said, kissing the top of Mickey's head. "But maybe you should consider letting him write you, just while he's in jail. Sounds like he could use your support."  


"What are you, his lawyer?" Mickey spat, growing irritated.  


"Not at all." Levi replied easily. "It's just, you've told me all these stories about how lonely you were, and how you just wanted someone to see you. He must feel the same way now."  


"That's why I'm sending my sister." Mickey replied, rolling out of Levi's grasp and straddling his waist. "Now, you wanna talk about Ian some more, or you wanna fuck? I've got shit to do in the morning."  


Mickey tips his head down, smiling against Levi's lips. He groans, slipping his tongue into his boyfriends mouth as he grinds his ass down on his swelling cock. 

Levi bucks up, gripping Mickey's ass hard as Mickey rolls his hips on top of him. Mickey moaned as Levi swiped his fingers over Mickey's wet entrance. 

"You start without me?" Levi chuckled, slipping a finger inside Mickey's tight hole. 

"I'm a boy scout now." Mickey grinned against Levi's lips. He gripped Levi's hard cock, placing it at his entrance and sliding down slowly, taking him inch by inch with a guttural groan. "Always fucking prepared." 

Later, after Mickey had rode Levi until his body gave out and they were both covered in sweat, come and hickies, the lights were off and the only sounds in the room were the bats chirping outside the window and Levi's quiet snores, Mickey was left alone with his thoughts.  


He'd meant it when he wrote Ian that he couldn't stay in contact with him. He didn't think it was fair to either of them. He doesn't understand why everyone is pushing him to keep talking to Ian. His sister, and now his boyfriend. It's like no one understand what this shit with Ian does to Mickey.  


Is he being selfish? Is he leaving Ian hanging when he needs Mickey the most? Is Mickey entitled to that, after what Ian did to him?  


Mickey doesn't know the answers to these questions. Being confused over Ian is a familiar feeling, one he thought he'd put to bed a while ago.  


Levi makes a small, tired sound, his arm curling out and around Mickey's waist, pulling him close and nuzzling his face into the back of Mickey's neck.  


Mickey sighs, finally closing his eyes.  


He knows now where he went wrong.  


He can't ever really let Ian go. Not totally, anyway. He'll be part of his life forever. He will always be part of Mickey's story. He'll always be Mickey's family. And the more Mickey tires to deny that, the more it's going to weigh on him.  


Mickey can still be happy here, at Sierra Madre, with Levi, and do this one thing for Ian. He can let him write if he wants to. He can write back, if he feels so inclined. It's not going to change anything. Ian's in Chicago, and Mickey is here.  


Mickey doesn't have to cut Ian out of his life in order to move on.  


His last conscious thought before he succumbs to sleep is that he'll call his sister in the morning, tell her it's okay for Ian to write if he wants to.  


Levi tightens his hold on Mickey. Mickey turns just enough to kiss his boyfriend's shoulder. He falls asleep feeling more settled and content than he has since he crossed the border into Mexico.  


Maybe things will really be okay for him, this time....

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hate me. this story is just one of many, and 99.9% of my fics are endgame. this is actually the first time i've ever written a fic that didn't end up with ian & mick together. but i think that this is a realistic way things could possibly go down.


End file.
